A Telltale Dream
by cryx
Summary: Somewhat AU. 14 year old Shinichi had decided to stay in Japan when his parents left for America. But what if he had gone with them, leaving behind the girl he had always known? ShinichixRan, of course.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan.

Chapter 1

Damn. You'd think that Akira Nobumoto was as ordinary as they get from his character, someone who liked his kill fast and simple, no inadequate niceties required.

Certainly not someone so elaborate as to carry both a shotgun and a tranquilizer on his person.

Definitely not someone so elaborate as to drug the body of a child with ten tranquilizer needles in one fell swoop. Wait a minute . . .

_Ten _tranquilizers? No, not elaborate; the guy was simply paranoid.

Conan's vision blurred, and he fell to his knees, his eyes never leaving the older man's retreating form. The bastard was getting away, and fast. Someone had to stop him, but Conan knew he couldn't. Chloroform in quantities large enough to knock out an elephant was coursing through his veins, and there was nothing he could do. For the first time in his life, Shinichi Kudo was helpless.

Helpless, that is, until the drug took effect and wrapped him in darkness, stripping him of all rational thought, hurling him headlong into a whirlwind of confusion, and then hauling him out right as the shock began to subside, leaving his mind reeling from the momentum, wondering where his body was.

And the feverish dreams came and thrived on the most guarded chambers of the past...

The thoughts sifted themselves in and out of Conan's drugged mind in a fraction of a second before the small body fell onto the cold, uncompromising concrete. For the first time in a long time, he was alone.

And the road grows long and ancient,

But I look at the horizon, and the fading sunset,

To see what I'll become.

I walk back into myself,

To the mouth of the great river

That is the past,

And I wonder why,

Out of all the possibilities,

Why things are the way they are,

Why I am the way I am.

And I hate all of it.

I live within myself,

As he greets this world

With a boy's hands and a man's eyes,

Searching for things to enlighten his heart,

Even though he already has the most important one

With him always,

Holding his hands like a harbor,

Wearing the mask that I wear,

To shield the world

From the same wounds

Because maybe the world can't go through what we go through

Every single day.

How I want to live again!

To bring justice to the dead,

With my own voice, my own identity...

I want my own identity.

I want to kill the shadows that devour me,

And live in the light that I've lost.

To live again,

To taste the world with my fingers,

And not his.

I want to be me again.

I want to live like I've never lived before.

To see what can't be seen.

To touch what can't be touched.

To feel what can't be felt.

And I wonder,

If a second chance at life

Is all it's cracked up to be . . .

And I fear that I am fading.

_And the darkness was fading, and he was afraid of what it drew aside to reveal. He feared he would wake up, and then he knew that he wouldn't. Not when he had been tranquilized as if he was a zombie..._

_It looked and felt like spring. Trees stood sentinel to the Kudo house, the emerald that colored their foliage matched only by the fluffy carpet at their feet, which mostly consisted of overgrown weeds. The sheer amount of them wasn't surprising when one considered at what state the house must've been – it had been empty for four years, up until today. Nevertheless, even in its state of neglect, the sun beat a kind light on the picture, casting it all in a beauty that went unnoticed, like all the efforts of a striving soul and all the emotions behind a mask. (And the sole occupant of this picture sure knew a heck of a lot about masks.) _

_And, in the center of it all, someone had come back from America, after four years of wondering what the heck he was doing._

"Where do you think you're going, young man?" Hands planted firmly on her hips, Yukiko Kudo glared at Shinichi from her station on the front steps.

"Out." His steps neither slowed nor stopped.

She sighed. "Well, wherever 'out' is, it's going to have to wait. Your things aren't going to unpack themselves, you know.

He continued to hold his pace as he headed for the iron gates and the unexplored streets of beyond. "I'll do it later."

Shinichi grinned as he caught wind of his mother grumbling to herself about having turned nagging housewife before she was even forty. He heard the sound of the front doors closing, and then he was alone with his thoughts.

He lengthened his stride, finally breaking into an all-out run, looking over the Tokyo streets as if for the first time. He had never remembered watching everything so closely before . . . These things that he had known for all his life save for the last four years, but seemed so surprisingly, crisp-morningly new at the same time. It had been four years that were forever. He had forgotten the way to his own house, couldn't even recognize some of the streets outside the taxicab window, but he knew the way to her. You could said that it was something akin to instinct - that was the only plausible reason that he could come up with. But then again, screw reason. He needed only one reason for coming halfway across the planet, and he was going to it.

Ran up the stairs, gave himself time to catch his breath. Rang the doorbell, and just as he had somehow known would happen, it was Ran that opened the door. Finally, after having waited so damn long . . .

The eyes that he had missed so much widened, but she said nothing. They stared at each other, both finding themselves speechless. Ran found her voice first.

"So."

Shinichi's own voice wasn't too long in coming. "So."

"We've ordered pizza. Hope you're okay with pepperoni?"

He grinned. "Gee, thanks. I've finally gotten out of America and the first thing I get is pizza."

Shinichi cast an eye over the house from his vantage point at the table. Nothing much had changed at the Mouris' as far as his detective's eye could tell. Ran's words only fed him further proof in the matter.

"Dad's out again." She rolled her eyes. "Drinking."

Yep. Good ole Mouri would never change. Ran, however, was a different matter. She had gotten better at cooking, better at karate, better at keeping her temper since Shinichi hadn't been there to incite it, and –

_And, _observed Shinichi, _she had gotten even prettier._

Ran was chatting away about what had happened during his absence - how the police were getting along without their quote-unquote "savior", how their – his former - classmates were doing, how everyone missed him -

" - but did _you_ miss me, Ran?" Shinichi interrupted, grinning.

She stopped abruptly, stared at him, then lowered her head and collected both their empty plates from the table and headed back to the kitchen, probably to hide her expression. She came back with a false smile on her lips. "America's been spoiling you, Shinichi. Ask too many personal questions and you - " her fist slammed onto the table in emphasis - "are going to hurt in a dozen different places. Need I elaborate?"

He shook his head fervently. "No'm."

It didn't matter how even-tempered she had become. Some things simply couldn't be pushed when one of them was reluctant. And perhaps they were better that way.

It was strange how lightning easy he reverted back to his until-recently forsaken Japanese life. Coming out of Ran's house, he came to a jolting recognition and acknowledgement of the streets, store-fronts and houses that he swore he couldn't remember an hour prior, coming out of the Kudo residence. It just went to show that, out of the two houses, which he really considered his home . . .

Home is where the heart is, and the heart is where your loved ones are – but what happens when the people you love lived separately, and you were forced to choose between them?

Once upon a time, Shinichi Kudo, age thirteen, had been forced to make a decision - not the sort of crap that, once decided on, the maker would forget the next day. His parents were going to move to America, wanted him to go with them, but at the same time knew how hard it'd be for him to leave the life he'd always known . . . not to mention certain people he'd always known. So they left the decision to him, let him choose where he'd be better off, and more importantly, with whom he'd be better off. It was the sort of decision that, once made, the maker would ponder over for weeks, wondering if what he chose was right, wondering what might have been if he had taken the other course.

Once upon a time, Shinichi Kudo left Japan with his parents for America. And he had wondered about his decision ever since. What might have happened if he had stayed. If he had made the right choice. If there _was _a right choice to begin with. Of course, that didn't matter. He had already chosen, if somewhat rashly. At the time when he had conceded, all he wanted to do was get away from everyone . . . especially Ran. It was but one reason, but it was reason enough.

And now, he had returned because of the same person.

a/n: So by now I guess it's obvious why it's only _somewhat_ AU. This, like my other DC fic, was something I had written a looong time ago, so do forgive if any of it seems immature. Coming up next: mysteries, parks, and ice cream! And who doesn't like ice cream? Rawr.

And if you're confused by this chapter...good. It'll get clearer later on, I hope.

By the way, Southpaw, good catch. :) Appreciate it.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan.

Chapter 2

It really was strange how he could remember so much just by being with someone, not even talking at all. But what the hell, memory weaved itself in ways not even the great Shinichi Kudo - whose name had only spread since the past years in Los Angeles, California - could unravel.

Shinichi dropped the subject, willing to completely give himself to the moment. Strolling idly down the relatively deserted streets of Beika, he and Ran took up to chatting about the surface things, neither of them disclosing what was really on their minds: how they managed to clear the mental obstacles the teenage years flung at them without each other's help, and more importantly, their reactions to a decision that took a huge bite out of both their lives and lumbered off without so much as an apology.

Fifteen minutes afterwards had found the not-quite couple in an ice cream parlor, and it absent-mindedly wondered what they had done before the trip for dessert. Nothing special, but Shinichi and Ran had been out of touch for years. Besides, they had plenty of time to catch up.

"Two double-scoops, please. Lychee on both, strawberry on one, cookie dough on the other."

The guy behind the counter, surprisingly intimidating for his occupation (and that wasn't only because of the scar 'round his right eyebrow), took the order one ice cream cone at a time, just like any green-behind-the-ears ice cream parlor employee would.

They found a booth and sat down, having run out of places to go.

"Say, Shinichi? It's been awhile since we've had ice cream like this, you know? I mean, even before you left."

"Hmm . . . ?" He was too preoccupied with his ice cream to give a real reply.

"I never realized how much I missed this . . . " She chuckled a little at herself.

_This? How about -me-?_ He thought to himself, but, being smart enough not to say it out loud, merely replied, "You don't say . . ."

Again, conversation dwindled, but neither of them really seemed to mind.

Then, "So how come you've never come back until now? I mean, you've called and such, but it wasn't the same. And it wasn't like you _couldn't_ or anything.

"Not to mention that you didn't even do _anything_ to tell me you were gonna come back . . ." This time, there was a hint of annoyance in her voice.

Shinichi grinned. "'Just wanted to surprise you, is all." He snorted. "At least, I figured you'd be more surprised than 'Are you okay with pepperoni?'"

Ran laughed. "Oh, that." She turned back to the real topic. "But what took you so long to get here?"

He flushed in embarrassment and set his half-finished ice cream cone aside. "It turned out I happened to be an illegal immigrant without knowing it."

There was a stricken silence as Ran nearly choked on her ice cream, followed by peals of laughter once she had swallowed it. "_Wow_ . . ." The rest didn't come until she had caught her breath. "Whatever I was expecting, it _wasn't_ that. You? Breaking the law? And I thought I knew you, Shinichi!"

He grew slightly redder as he returned, "I didn't know, okay? Dad found out when he was looking up my records for something about school, and it turned out they put me down as visiting for an indefinite period of time or something like that. It turned out it wasn't a mistake. My parents had wanted me to get a dose of living in the U.S. and _then_ deciding if I'd rather be in Japan or America. It just slipped their minds to tell me, what with Dad being hounded by editors around the clock and Mom with her shoots and interviews. Stupid thing is, I had a chance of coming back those first months in America for good, and I never knew about it."

"Mmm-hmm. Shinichi?" Ran's voice was quiet and tentative. "If you knew you still had a choice about it, what would you have done?"

He smiled. "I would've hijacked the first plane I got my hands on and threatened to shoot everyone on board if I didn't get to Tokyo, and fast."

She raised an eyebrow. "Tokyo's police station, you mean. I'd bet Inspector Megure would be surprised."

Shinichi shrugged. "As long as it's Tokyo."

Ran frowned. "America can't be _that_ bad, can it?"

"The stuff it's famous for isn't a lie, and there's probably no place better as long as you overlook a few . . . mistakes. But things aren't the same there as they are in Japan . . .

"And, besides, none of that matters because – because – " he looked down at his ice cream, half-aware that he might crush the cone with how tightly he gripped it.

"Shinichi? Are you okay?" He looked up to see her perplexed expression, only then feeling the heat on his face. He could guess how red he must've been.

He loosened his grip on the unfortunate cone, running a hand through his hair as he felt himself cool down. _Okay, Shinichi, you can do this. This is Ran – there's no reason you should get nervous, even if you are going to tell her – _His train of thought stopped right there. There was no denying it – he _was_ nervous. _Deep breath. Hit rewind. Okay, go for it._

"I was gonna say, Ran, that it wouldn't have been the same without – "

"Ohmigosh! Somebody killed Kenny!" came the shrill, unwelcome interruption.

" . . . "

_Oh, God no. _He swallowed, afraid to ask but afraid even more to not know. He turned to Ran. "Did I just hear what I think I heard?"

Her concerned eyes wandered over to a nearby booth, where the scream had issued from. She had no idea what was going on in Shinichi's head. "Yeah, Shinichi, you did. Let's go."

The heel of his hand met his forehead as he sat there, looking dazed. Idiot _South Park_ reruns. Idiot, damned interruptions.

**Full name: Kenjiro Souma**

**Age at death: 22 years and three months exactly**

**Marital Status: single**

**Appearance: brown hair, crew cut with brown eyes and freckles. 5'8", 145 lbs. **

**Medical History: drug abuse and tuberculosis treatment a year prior **

**Persons Suspected of Murder: friends and classmates Touya Naruhito (23, journalist), Eizo Harada (22, doctor), and Kinji Masuko (22, private tutor); Bakin Enomoto (33, employee of establishment)**

**Reasons for Murder: unknown**

Shinichi glanced furtively over the cop's shoulder at the clipboard before turning to the suspects listed on the report. He noticed with some surprise that next to one of them sat a boy no older than seven, shivering violently despite the season. They all sat sullenly on the booth, every one of them taking care to not look in the general direction of the corpse sprawled on the tiles nearby. There wasn't any sign of a struggle or of blood – Shinichi guessed that the Souma character died from food poisoning.

A hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to see Ran, who glanced at the small boy pointedly. Shinichi nodded, indicating that it would be all right with the police if she took him away. He watched as she walked over to the booth, bent down to talk to the child, and take his outstretched hand into her own as she led him outside. One of the men – Harada, his name was – gave her a thankful smile as she left. Shinichi guessed that the little boy was Harada's niichan.

"I understand you three were the ones present when Kenjiro Souma died." Shinichi turned at the familiar voice to find Inspector Megure, who had yet to notice the young detective. Three equally stricken faces nodded as one, without looking up at the speaker.

"And you," the portly inspector turned to the burly man behind the counter – except now, he was sitting at the same booth as the other suspects, his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees, his gruff-looking face uncharacteristically pale. "You were handling the ice cream."

Watching from the side, Shinichi's mind got in gear at once. _Judging from this,_ _this Enomoto guy would be the first anyone would suspect. It's easy enough to poison whatever type of ice cream the victim ordered right in its container. But he hardly knew the victim . . . Think on that later, Shinichi. First, see if it really is ingested poison that made the kill. _

"Long time no see, Inspector." Shinichi grinned as he strolled over to Megure.

Said inspector turned from the crime scene and found himself face to face with someone he had never expected to see again. "K-Kudo!" he blinked in disbelief. When he made sure that it wasn't overwork that was making him see things, but the real Shinichi Kudo standing in front of him, he fell into an easy grin. "Wow, right in the knick of time, too. Always so reliable – I hear you've made quite a name for yourself in America. How's your father?"

"You know, same old same old," replied Shinichi absent-mindedly. "May I get a better look at the body, Inspector?" Without waiting for an answer, he walked past the inspector and knelt down by the corpse.

He caught the sound of the Inspector chuckling. "Same old Shinichi Kudo. There's no getting between him and a dead body," Shinichi heard him murmur to a nearby cop. The seventeen-year-old studied the body, taking care to scan the neck and behind the ears for needle pricks. There wasn't anything – if not for the lack of a pulse, you would have thought the guy was unconscious or merely asleep. The complexion was a healthy pinkish, and there were no signs of rope marks or scrapes whatsoever. That made sense, since this was a public place – to prick someone or tie them would be noticed immediately. The only way to kill in a place like this that came to mind was consumed poison, probably in the ice cream. Shinichi leaned closer to the corpse. There was a slight bitter almond scent hovering above the victim's lips; there was no doubt about it: this was accomplished by potassium cyanide.

He got up and turned to the four suspects, who hadn't moved an inch since Inspector Megure acknowledged them. They looked scared stiff, and who could blame them? Three of them had lost a friend, and the fourth – well, the fourth apparently wasn't the toughie that his appearance demanded him to be. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ran casting them sympathetic glances. The little boy she had led outside was nowhere in sight. She was back at her seat at their booth, her arms hugging knees that were drawn up to her chest. Her eyes – Shinichi had seen that expression in her eyes somewhere, that look of being so alone, but he couldn't remember where. He felt something stir in his chest – he didn't want her hurting anymore, didn't want her so alone anymore. He wanted to be with her . . . But first, there was that damned case he needed to clear up.

"Naruhito-san, Harada-san, Masuko-san, you went to school with Kenjiro Souma, didn't you?" Shinichi asked.

The three he addressed nodded. One of them, the one called Masuko, said, "We were taking night classes on Latin at Tokyo University."

Harada spoke up. "It's Hisato's birthday, and he wanted us to be there with him. Someone killed on his birthday! By God, he's only seven! Who would've thought . . . "

Naruhito clenched his fists.

Shinichi wasn't good at being sympathetic, but it was what this unexpected turn of the circumstances called for. "If it makes you feel any better, I think my friend had him sent home. That's the best we can do."

He cleared his throat. "I'd hate to do this to you, but it'd greatly help our investigation if you told me what each of you ordered, Souma-san included, of course."

They all shot him quizzical looks, but grudgingly obliged.

Five minutes later, Shinichi pondered over his notes. He could just about eliminate the option of poison in the ice cream – Masuko had ordered the same kind of ice cream as the victim, and what's more, he had ordered it after the victim. It was impossible for Masuko not to get poisoned if it really was the case.

Poison in the cone was another matter. There was ice cream still in the lower half of Souma's cone, and he quickly found where the stacked cones were placed – right on the counter, in plain view and in plainer reach. It would be cake for anyone to sneak in a few sprinkles of the KCN and be completely secretive about it if he was alone. However, the perpetrator was with five others, Souma, Hisato Harada, and Enomoto included. That made things a bit more complicated.

He had taken a quick mental assessment of the suspects when he was questioning them – with the exception of Hisato, all of them had pockets. The police had asked them to show their belongings, and they were all laid out on the table. There wasn't anything that even remotely resembled a container small enough to fit into someone's hand. Shinichi found nothing of that description in any of the trashcans, either. However, he did find one thing worth mentioning.

He pocketed his find in a plastic baggie and asked the suspects if any of them recognized it. They all claimed they had never seen it before, and that was precisely what the detective wanted to hear. He had something here . . . _But what would anyone want with a cold pack?_ He glanced at the suspects, and the clenched fists of one among them . . .

**Then **something clicked. That famous I-know-something-you-don't-know grin slipped back on his face, and Shinichi was reminded of why he loved solving mysteries so much.

"Inspector, we have our man."

Inspector Megure turned around, caught one look of Shinichi's eyes, and grinned beneath his mustache. "Then what're we waiting for? Tell us what happened here, Kudo."

On his prompt, Shinichi Kudo, teenage detective, took center stage. "The victim, one Kenjiro Souma, died of poisoning from potassium cyanide. One look at him and you'd know. Right, Inspector?"

Inspector Megure nodded, having reached this conclusion on his own.

"The potassium cyanide wasn't put in the ice cream, or else Masuko-san here would have died also, having ordered the same thing as Souma-san. Instead, it was put in the cone. And, because the cones were stacked right on the counter, within anyone's reach, anyone could have done it.

"Enomoto-san only took his orders one at a time, so it was easy for the murderer to put the potassium cyanide inside the cone after Souma-san placed his order and before Enomoto-san made the ice cream. Once the potassium cyanide was in the cone, the murder was as good as committed."

"But Kudo," Inspector Megure pointed out, "how did—"

"I'm getting to that, Inspector. The surprising thing is that the murderer added in the potassium cyanide right in front of everyone's eyes—being seen was something he was willing to risk. However, the question is: how did he get it in the cone? No one found anything like a container that could fit inside a man's hand on the premises, and there was nothing among the suspects' belongings. However, I did find—" Shinichi held up the miniature cold pack—"this."

A murmur of confusion ran through the police force and three out of four of the suspects.

Shinichi played with his audience, stretching their curiosity stronger by seeming to jump from one topic to the next. "In its normal state, potassium cyanide is a salt. The murderer mixed it in with water and froze the water. He then crushed the ice and put the pieces in a small, regular plastic bag. The cold pack was used to keep the ice cold, and both it and the bag were small enough to fit into his pocket.

"Obviously, potassium cyanide is dangerous, even fatal, when ingested. The same goes for contact with skin. However, that's exactly how the murderer accomplished the murder: he held the poison in his hand. When he made sure nobody was looking, he dropped it into the cone."

He paused, letting a stunned silence reigned over the room. He took a step towards the group of suspects. "That was why the perpetrator made the potassium cyanide into crushed ice—it's more dilute than the pure salt, and even though when it's ingested it makes no difference, it's a bit easier to handle on the skin in that form."

"Not that it's ever _easy _to handle . . . No matter the amount, potassium cyanide does inflict severe pain and skin burns on bare hands."

He was face to face with Touya Naruhito now, who had been clenching his fists ever since Kenjiro Souma collapsed on the floor, dead. Shinichi slowly turned over his wrists, and Naruhito's hands opened of their own accord. The fingertips of the left hand were charred with guilt.

There was no smile on Shinichi's face now. "There is only one truth, Naruhito-san."

The scene afterwards replayed itself in Shinichi's mind long after he and Ran had left the ice cream parlor. He vaguely noticed Ran giving him concerned looks from time to time, but his mind was locked on another time and place, some other where.

"_Have you ever read _The Count of Monte Cristo_, Kudo-san?" Naruhito's voice was so quiet that Shinichi could hardly believe what he heard._

_Shinichi nodded, wondering where Naruhito was taking this._

They were at the entrance to the park now. Shinichi stole a glance at Ran, and without a word they went in.

"_That guy, that Kenjiro . . . he was lucky I was so kind."_

"You want to know why I went off to America, Ran?"

She nodded cautiously, wondering if she should dread the answer.

"I didn't know what to do with myself when I was around you."

"_He stole her away. He stole away the only girl I ever cared about. Stole her away, and killed her."_

"_Touya-kun . . . Hanae-kun committed suicide," from Harada._

"_Suicide, murder, what does it matter? He killed her. He dumped her, and then he killed her."_

"_The only reason Kenjiro-kun dumped her was to protect her! You know how addicted he was, you know how dangerous it was for him to be addicted like that! The stuff he was taking only worsened his condition . . . He didn't want her to worry about him. He couldn't have known that she would take it so badly—he's only human, Touya-kun."_

_Naruhito laughed bitterly. "If he really loved her, he would have quit, no matter how addicted he was. If he really loved her, he should have killed himself when she died. And since he didn't, I did it for him._

"_She deserved to be really loved."_

"Shinichi . . . ?" Tears welled up in her eyes as she misinterpreted his words.

He caught her arm, afraid that she might turn around and run away before he could speak it all out. Run away, like he did. "I'll explain, Ran, I promise."

He sat down on a conveniently placed bench, pulling her down with him. "I was frustrated, Ran. Frustrated, confused . . . I didn't know what to do with myself. I hated it. Whenever I was with you, I was so frustrated, so confused. I hated it, and I loved it. I couldn't figure out why I, who's dealt with all kinds of people, couldn't say the simplest things to someone—"

"I—I don't understand, Shinichi." She had dried up her tears, but the same hurt was in her voice—Shinichi swore at himself for doing this to her.

"Lemme start over." He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath. "How long have we been friends, Ran?"

"_There was this passage in that book, Kudo-san." Naruhito was talking about _The Count of Monte Cristo again. _"Something about how unfair it was that someone who had caused you weeks, months, years of slow suffering, internal pain would pay for it for suffering a few minutes of physical pain before he was dead. How the law can only do so much for your vengeance by simply killing him. How in order to get the full pay, you have to take things into your own hands. Your own hands that don't give a damn about what the law says."_

She pondered that for a few seconds. "I—I don't know."

He nodded. "Exactly. So long that we don't even remember. Have you ever thought that maybe—" He stopped as Ran turned to him sharply, flashing him a look that told him she was afraid of his next words. He almost decided to let the subject drop at her visible pain, but knew that her pain if he left things at what they were would be infinitely greater. "Have you ever thought that maybe I wanted to be more than friends?"

"_He killed her. I should get my vengeance—And the law wouldn't do it because of the way he killed her. That just infuriates the hell out of me. Or into me, I guess you could say." He chuckled bitterly. "So I only gave myself what the law would have given me if he had physically killed her, with his own two hands. _

"_I didn't even take the full toll he owed me—I didn't make him suffer. That pain isn't suffering . . . he doesn't know what is. I do, and I damn could've given it to him, too. But I didn't. All I gave him was something as little as death. I guess I'm too kind."_

"_How does that make you kind? How do you even know what kindness is?" a voice from the other side of the room exclaimed._

Her gaze dropped from his as she glued her eyes to her knees, her cheeks burning scarlet.

Shinichi pretended not to notice as he scoured the skies for the courage to keep talking. "We were friends, and I guess I should've been satisfied with that. But I wasn't. I wanted more. But I never knew how to tell you. Never knew if you felt the same way. Never knew what you'd do if I ever worked up the nerve to tell you."

_Ran had stood up from her booth and was walking in their direction, her eyes only on Naruhito. "Think about Souma-san's family, his friends! Think about how they'll suffer! They'll suffer just as much as you've suffered, and they've never done a single thing to you. They've never done a single thing to you!"_

"_And I've never done a single thing to him! And yet I'm the one who came out with the short end of the stick," Naruhito defended, his voice rising in retaliation._

"_You think you're the only one who's suffered from Hanae-san's death? Have you forgotten, Souma-san pushed her away to protect her! Don't you think he may have suffered all the more because the person he tried to protect died because of him? What's more—"_

_She made a valiant effort to keep her voice from rising. "What's more, he had no idea she would react that way. But you—you had full knowledge of the consequences."_

"I was scared, Ran. Scared of what you might do, scared that you might push me away."

She sat silently, her hair curtaining the left side of her face, keeping her expression from him.

"Scared of the consequences. I was so frustrated, so confused. I hated myself. It was just so unfair, how I've gone through my whole life sure that I was fearless, and then . . . then this came along. I didn't know what to do."

_Naruhito sat speechless, and finally regret settled in as he digested her words._

"_Think about Hisato-kun. He might not ever recover from this—he's only seen so much. Out of all of us, he's the one who's going to be taking this the worst. How can you call yourself kind when you've done this to him? He's a child, he doesn't know how to put things behind him like older people do. Think about how scared he was . . . _

"_Think about what you've done, all the people this will touch. And then tell us that you're kind."_

"So what're you going to do now? Go back to America satisfied with yourself and leave me to recover from this all alone?" she asked quietly.

"Now that I've said it, there's nothing to run away from. I only have reasons to be here."

It had just fallen dark, and Ran was thankful that it hid her smile.

"However, I still have things to clear up in America. After that's done, I'll come back for good. Will you . . . wait for me until I do?"

She smiled again into the darkness. "I have been this whole time."


End file.
